


Healing Hearts

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: Witcher (Books) [4]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Blood and Injury, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff without Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-25 09:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22293523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: Geralt knows that Dandelion's always happy to see him, even when he turns up uninvited and wounded.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher (Books) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624276
Comments: 24
Kudos: 267
Collections: Best Geralt





	Healing Hearts

Geralt hissed through his teeth, limping heavily up the steps to the rented room. Yes, perhaps he should have stopped and told Dandelion that he was in town, but if he knew two things about his friend it was that Dandelion never locked his door and that he would always be happy to see the Witcher. They’d parted ways when Geralt had gone north for the previous winter and had yet to stumble across one another again, so he’d been alone for most of the spring.

He pushed open the door with one hand, staggered across the room, and fell gracelessly onto the bed. Maybe he should have gotten off his filthy clothes before befouling the inn’s bedding, but he doubted it was the worst thing they’d ever had on him. His intention had been to clean his wounds once he got into Dandelion’s room, but exhaustion overtook him before he could, and he fell asleep without even realizing it.

* * *

“Shhhh. Geralt. Shhhh. I’m here.”

He forced his eyes open with a groan. “Hello, Dandelion.”

The bard stroked his hair in response. He’d pulled Geralt’s head into his lap and was stroking his hair, and yes, Geralt was a bit annoyed that he’d been so vulnerable as to not notice someone moving him around on the bed, but then again, his senses always seemed to ignore Dandelion, as though even deep down in his unconscious mind he knew the bard wasn’t a threat.

“Hardly a pleasant surprise to open my door to, you know?” the bard asked with a bright smile, his cornflower blue eyes shining. “The girl I was bringing with me nearly fainted at the sight of you. Or perhaps the smell.”

Geralt only groaned in response, too tired and in too much pain to do otherwise.

Thankfully, it seemed Dandelion hadn’t wanted a verbal reply, continuing to stroke his finger’s through the Witcher’s hair as he murmured, “What was it this time?”

“Drowners.”

“I hope it paid well.”

“Wasn’t a contact,” he rasped. “Attacked on the road.” He couldn’t remember his last contract, his head was too fuzzy from the blood loss and hunger. Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember his last meal.

“Let me see.” Dandelion pushed his shirt up, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor, then ran his hand over the inflamed wound on Geralt’s side. “This needs cleaned and stitched, Geralt,” he said, almost scoldingly.

“Mother hen,” Geralt accused weakly.

“Ha!” Dandelion slipped from the bed, padding across the floor and returning to Geralt’s side with the medical kit the bard had started to carry with him since he’d begun traveling with Geralt. He knelt on the floor beside him, pouring alcohol onto the wound and hushing him when he grunted.

“Easy Geralt,” Dandelion murmured, stroking his side as he prepared a needle and thread. Fingers nimble from years of playing instruments pressed the ragged flesh together, suturing the wound closed as the bard made reassuring cooing noises.

Geralt was tempted to tell him that he wasn’t a child and didn’t need his coddling, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t at least a bit enjoyable.

Once he’d tied off the thread, he patted Geralt’s shoulder, then stood, saying, “Let me bring you supper.”

He was nearly asleep again when the bard returned, a heavy tray in his hands. Even from across the room, it smelled heavenly.

Dandelion helped him to sit up, passing him a bowl of stew wordlessly, then sitting behind him, letting Geralt lean into him. One arm wrapped around his waist, holding him tightly, and Dandelion laid his head on the Witcher’s shoulder without a comment about how he smelled.

Geralt ate slowly, savoring the taste of his first decent meal in weeks and the feeling of a warm body pressed against him. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Dandelion only chuckled. “You don’t have to thank me, my friend,” he said.

“But I want to.”

The bard gave him a slight squeeze, then said, “I know, Geralt, I know.”


End file.
